


Supply and Demand

by clouder (selfinduced)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-12
Updated: 2007-07-12
Packaged: 2017-10-10 18:53:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selfinduced/pseuds/clouder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daniel doesn't think Jack remembers the Ancient language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Supply and Demand

**Author's Note:**

> Set after/spoilers for episode 2xsomething, The Fifth Race, where they discover the Ancient repository and Jack goes to the Asgard home-planet.
> 
> Apologies for the abuse of brackets, parenthesis and italics. Things [WRITTEN LIKE THIS] are supposed to be in Latin, but I'm just not up to deciding which verbs/nouns have the most appropriate connotations and how they should be conjugated/declined. My Latin is veryvery limited.

"I miss it."

He'd meant to say it, but hadn't realized what it would mean once he did.

["I miss you touching me."]

Jack is absolutely still beside him, empty bottles curled between his fingers on their way to the bin.

Daniel doesn't turn to face him, or clarify. He puts away the last plate instead, and Jack continues like they'd never paused.

-

They'd shown up around seven, bearing donuts, sour patch kids, and all three releases of E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, accompanied by Teal'c's eloquent eyebrow and head-tilt.

Jack's shoulders had tightened and then deliberately untensed, making something in Daniel's chest ache.

He'd probably need some personal space too, after having had the entire database of Ancient knowledge downloaded into and then wiped from his head.

But this was Jack.

He smiled at them faintly with one half of his mouth and drawled, "I'm going to assume you brought your own beer," letting his team in to spend some quality movie-watching time to reassure them their colonel was back, and not about to "shut down" any time soon.

Sam had left with Teal'c for the mountain ("Drop him off and go back _home_, Carter!") somewhere around midnight. Daniel had stayed behind as usual to help clean up, gain another hour or so towards sobriety, or maybe just spend the night.

-

Movement in this kitchen is familiar; they both know how to dance around each other between the table and the counter-top, to not touch but brush close as they pass between sink, dishwasher, fridge, needing the warmth of another human being close by.

It was the hardest, most insidious thing Daniel had to get used to in his new apartment when he first moved out—the absence of another's presence. Someone to ask what toppings he wanted on the pizzas and then promptly ignore, to steal pieces of fried eggplant and noodle from when he wasn't looking, to throw his chopsticks at in disgust when he realized Jack had stolen the last shrimp. Again.  
(He can't decide if it was better or worse during that month he spent with both arms in a cast after P3R-whatever of The Extremely Flaky Rocks where he'd slipped and sprained both his wrists, when Jack would give him the last one every single time. He would come close, hold the chopsticks up to his mouth with heartbreakingly sweet patience until Daniel rolled his eyes and took the shrimp with his teeth.)

That was when Daniel had taken to long hours in his office on base with renewed fervor, working until he fell asleep at the desk. At least there, Jack was more likely to wander in at all times, baiting Daniel until he was too annoyed to ignore him and tell him to go sleep in his own bed.

It was funny, if he looked at it the right way; ironic.

-

He tries to remember if that's when it started. The slow but steady rationing of reassuring shoulder-rubs, arm-brushes, thumb-chuck under his chin, a hug for when things got really bad (Daniel still doesn't know if it was a side-effect of sarcophagus withdrawal, or Jack's body wrapped around him that had him all warm and fuzzy and feverish that one time in the supply closet after P3R 636), patented Colonel O'Neill way of making sure all was right with his team—still there, but getting fewer and farther in between.

He knows it'd been right around the time that he noticed that Jack didn't do that so much with Sam or Teal'c. Maybe he'd been evening the odds.

At the time, Daniel had assumed it was the obvious unresolved tension between Jack and Sam. He might be unorthodox and laid back about his own track record, but he'd never risk Sam's career or reputation. And Jack is always so careful to treat them all with the same level of gruff, intensely loyal affection.

These days, Jack still touches Daniel, at least as much and usually more than he touches the others.

But Jack doesn't touch Daniel anywhere near as often as Daniel wants him to.

When he does, it's all Daniel can do to not lean into it, arch his neck, his back, become instantly quiescent and warm and maybe purr a little in encouragement. Daniel doesn't do any of these things. Or even think them, really.

When Jack touches him, (after the first second of a shockwave of desire that makes him go still and open his mouth a little, maybe pause mid-sentence if he'd been talking), he tries to act as normal as possible under the circumstances, hoping that the touch would continue and no one would notice and Daniel wouldn't do something ridiculously obvious to give himself away, like rub up against Jack like a cat in heat, offering his belly.

The longest that this has worked is fifty-one seconds.

(Canucks v. Anaheim Ducks. Jack's hand had stayed on Daniel's shoulder after squeezing for quiet, eyes glued to the screen. Even Daniel could tell that Vancouver was ridiculously outplayed, but his eyes had been on the clock behind the poor goalie, counting down the seconds, skin going first impossibly hot, then cold, then just wistfully tingly when Jack had finally moved away to reach for more beer.)

-

Daniel's hands grip the counter behind him as he turns his head to the side, away from Jack.

"Why did you stop?" he tries not to, but can't help darting up a glance.

Jack looks at him with dark, thoughtful eyes, quirks his mouth up at one corner and holds his arms out with a gruff "C'mere."

Just like he would for any member of the rag-tag collection of humans and aliens he calls family.

Especially when they were on the verge of losing him.

He takes the hug though, starving for contact, for the smell of Jack's aftershave and the warmth of his skin, the rough texture of stubble at his jaw-line that Daniel surreptitiously nuzzles past before burying his face into the hollow of Jack's shoulder.

This is all allowed.

He wants more than is allowed.

["I want too much."]

Jack holds him, lets himself be squeezed within an inch of his life, and Daniel doesn't want to think about the possibility that Jack is just human and maybe even fragile, shoulders not as wide as Daniel's own, body battered and scarred by years of fighting. A survivor, but not unbreakable.

He lets his mouth turn up until it's resting on the skin behind Jack's ear, but doesn't exert pressure. Just feels the reassuring rhythm of a pulse against his lips, fingers curling and uncurling in the fabric of Jack's fleece with hopeless want.

Jack's mouth is inches from his and he can stand it. He can not push. He can take what's given and allowed.

  
Except now Jack's hand is sliding up Daniel's neck, making him shiver before he can help himself, and stroking his hair, tucking it behind his ear, cupping his cheek. It's not quite neutral enough to pass muster and Daniel is torn between leaning into the touch, or burrowing even closer to Jack, wanting to crawl inside him. Apply for permanent residence.

He goes for broke and turns to nuzzle the palm cupping his cheek. Kisses it, heart thudding wild, mouth reckless and dry.

Jack makes a noise, a quiet, cut off inhalation. Daniel doesn't turn to see, but when Jack's nose is brushing against his cheek before his lips find Daniel's, he's almost expecting it.

Which does nothing to prepare him for how it feels to be kissed by Jack.

To kiss Jack.

He expected it to be like falling, an echo of the vertigo he felt when he first looked into Jack's eyes, years ago on Abydos, really seeing him for the first time.

It's not.

It's like kissing the sun, like burning, agony and sweetness and possession, being possessed, belonging, realizing the last piece of a puzzle and seeing how it all went together to make perfect, beautiful sense. Eureka.

They rest there, foreheads leaning together, catching their breaths, and Daniel's arm is around Jack's shoulder, his fingers light on Jack's cheek.

Jack licks at his own lips like he's still tasting Daniel there, eyes trained on Daniel's mouth. ["Yours. Always have been."]

That wasn't him! That was definitely not him—and, "Oh."

He should have known. '_Don't remember a thing_' his ass. Of course Jack wouldn't admit to understanding the language of the most powerful alien race they'd ever come across. That would just be far too useful and—"Shit!"

Jack blinks down innocently, and sees the flash of panic on Daniel's face.

"I did go to college you know. And grad school. Picked up a few things along the way. " (_I'm still alright. No remaining lethal Ancient knowledge._)

"Okay," Daniel nods a little, ears warm as he remembers what he's been letting slip.

"I can't believe you had to look up _locus_. And Carter didn't get it either."

Daniel narrows his eyes "Jack, don't be an ass."

Jack's eyes crinkle as he smiles sideways.

"So I've got leave for a couple days. Just to make sure I'm not dying or anything. And Carter and Teal'c never want to go fishing with me when we're on stand-down. "

-

After spending hours driving up to the cabin and helping Jack do a thorough (two hour) bug-sweep, he finally, finally has permission to say something—something incriminating and obvious, something in a language that _isn't_ either alien or ancient.

He helps Jack make dinner (steak, almost rare enough to bleed all over the plates, and roasted potatoes, the preparations for which look suspiciously like real cooking) in almost total silence.

Jack reaches past him for the rosemary (where had it even come from? How well stocked is this kitchen anyway?) and the hairs on his forearm rise to brush Daniel's skin when it gets close and Daniel's wrapping his hand around Jack's wrist, below the brown beaded bracelet Cassie made for him.

"Jack." He says, slow, and stops. None of the languages he knows are coming forth when he opens his mouth.

For once Jack isn't shooting back a loaded "Daniel..?" but coming to stand close instead.

He leans forward, and their noses are almost brushing, it reminds Daniel of playing with magnets when he was little—the way you could bring the opposite poles close together and feel them gravitate towards each other. It's like Jack's mouth is the South to his North (or North to his South. Whatever.) tugging at him until he gives in, opens his mouth to share Jack's breath.

So close that all he sees are Jack's lowered eyelashes shadowing his flushed cheeks, half-lidded eyes dark and hot and _wanting_. Wanting _him_.

The world blurs a little after that, the back of Jack's neck under his palm, the wet, giving, heat of his mouth, the rough outside wall of the cabin pressing into his back when they've somehow managed to take off their shirts between the kissing.

Jack pulls them inside, and Daniel's glad because here, there're rugs and even a bed somewhere, but he forgets about it as his hands span the sides of Jack's hips and he drags his thumb down the ridge at the front of Jack's jeans because Jack is making that almost choked noise again, but louder, pressing up into Daniel's hand, ("Oh. Fuck. _Daniel_.") breathing hotly into the side of his neck.

Daniel wants to step back and just look at him, but he can't stop touching. Jack's hands, his arms, the line of his throat down to his chest, the smooth, warm skin of his sides, the scarred curves of muscle on his back. Can't get over the heady feel of being able to touch, of the way Jack is leaning into it, letting him.

Daniel's mouth is wet and open on Jack's neck, saying a thousand silent things (_Don't go. Don't change. Don't break._) and biting into the flesh of his chest, down down to the spot on his side where one stroke makes the whole of Jack's belly ripple, sending goose bumps and shivers across his skin.

Daniel lands on his knees, pressing Jack into the stone lining the fire-place, testing the spot with his tongue, mouthing at the bulge in Jack's pants while he unzips them, tugs them down and off and breathes him in. Nuzzles.

Jack groans, deep and low, but doesn't thrust up.

Daniel strokes the creases at the start of Jack's thighs with his tongue, finding the spot by his hipbones that make his legs fall open farther, muscles clench and unclench, and kisses the side of Jack's cock, pushing up in wanton invitation. Jack's knuckles graze up his cheek, tangled with Daniel's own, make him look up.

Jack is breathing hard, harsh, watching him.

Daniel surges up and gathers both of Jack's hands in his, pinning them beside his head, and kisses Jack again and again. (_Mine. Stay._)

Jack holds his face close, fingers curling into his hair, soothing, and Daniel can't figure out why, but he doesn't argue. Lets Jack's lips soften his, turning their kisses sweet, licking into Jack's mouth like they have all the time in the world, tasting and lingering. Jack's thumb brushes at the corner of his mouth when they pull apart a little, breathless. (_I'm right here._)

-

The potatoes are burnt, but not blackened. Hot and crispy, and possibly the best food Daniel's ever eaten in his life.

-

"God, _Daniel_." He's never going to get tired of hearing his name said like that, Jack's voice hoarse and raspy as he replaces fingers with cock, hands slick and hot on Daniel's hips, angling him up, making Daniel's cock brush against the bunched up sheets soaked with sweat as he slid inside. He's only an inch inside before he pulls back, then pushes in again, coming in deeper every time, slow and deliberate and crazy-making.

Daniel swears in Abydonian, Ancient Egyptian, Arabic, words coming out in a string of almost-coherence as he fights not to push back too hard, letting out a long groan of relief when Jack is all the way inside him, starts swearing again, in English this time, as Jack moves inside him, thrusting in place without sliding back out, staying on the right spot the whole time until Daniel thinks he's seeing spots, feels a sweet burn along his thighs.

Daniel shifts forward and back, panting, until they're kneeling almost upright, grabbing the wrought iron headboards and biting his lip as he moves on Jack, making them both gasp and buck their hips. It's easier now that Jack's already inside him (it took some work no matter how much he wanted it, it's been a while).

Jack starts to move in and out of him until it's almost easy, one of his hands leave Daniel's hip to catch Daniel's hand in the sheets next to his mouth, and Daniel reaches back, drags a finger down Jack's sweat-slick cheek (Jack kisses the finger, sucks on the tip) before he's forced to scrabble at the sheets again, push up a little into Jack.

Jack, who is fucking him deep and slow, face buried in the back of Daniel's neck where he can feel the harsh gasps for air and the choked cry of "Dani—ehl" as his balls tighten and the pressure inside him ratchets up higher and higher until he's coming at the feel of a single finger dragged down the length of his cock. He can feel Jack pulsing along in him with shallow thrusts, making it last long enough to be almost forever.

-

If he gets Jack distracted (or annoyed) enough, Jack will respond to Daniel in almost all of the languages Daniel's used around him.

Afterglow apparently counts as an effective distraction.

He'd never expected this, this sweet, wide-mouthed, pliable Jack, heavy and warm and responsive to everything Daniel says, voice a low, amused rumble. It makes him even more afraid when he thinks back to their last mission--they always risk everything when they step through the gate, but it's usually not a steady, systematic rewriting of his brain making everything and everyone around him fade out of reach. The thought keeps him awake, making him not want to lose conscious knowledge of Jack's skin touching his.

Daniel brushes his lips over Jack's forehead, smoothing bushy eyebrows (going gray), letting go of one of his hands to map the texture of his face. Kisses carefully at the crease between his eyebrows, lips sliding down to the tip of his nose.

He lifts his head slightly to just look at Jack, eyebrows furrowed with concentration.

"Daniel."

Jack is starting to grin, lazy and knowing.

"Shut up, Jack."

If anything, the grin gets bigger.

-

Daniel loves Sam.

She's like the sister he never knew he wanted, even within the tight-knit group they've started to form after almost dying and/or saving the world together on a bi-monthly basis. And as one would expect of a sibling (Daniel doesn't actually know, but he's read about it), she has a knack for knowing things just by looking at him.

Which is why he's studiously _not_ avoiding her, but very carefully staying busy in his own office with delicate artifacts and books open to various pages (none that he's actually using) spread all about to discourage intruders.

"Daniel! The colonel evicted me from my lab and ordered me to eat someth—Daniel?" Sam stops inside the doorway, looks down at the barricade of books and paraphernalia, then up at him.

He forgot that he's tried this before.

"Oh my God." Sam only snickers a little before forcing a straight face, her dancing eyes and slight blush the only give-away. "Well. It wasn't an alien this time." She grins. "What's her name?"

Daniel starts arranging things so he can leave for lunch, and doesn't meet her eyes. "Um."

"Or his." Sam's eyebrows are doing an interesting thing. They don't usually do that. She's going to start giggling any second now.

He manages to not trip over his chair and lets his hair stay fallen across his face as he goes to join Sam out in the hall.

"Oh shit. Daniel." Her face turns serious. Daniel wonders what exactly it is about his body language that lets her know. He's a linguist. He's sure he could figure it out if he tried hard enough. "You're being careful, right?" Her hand lands on his arm briefly, "Of course you are. If he's risking the regs, it's got to be pretty—oh."

Sam actually stops in the middle of the hall, jaw working silently for a second before she looks up at him, looks around, and whispers urgently. "_Daniel!_"

"I didn't do anything!"

She just looks at him for a minute.

"Okay, okay, but I didn't. You know." Daniel's eyes flick all over the place wildly.

Sam is doing that thing where she ducks her head and grins before looking up with a relatively straight face. They start walking again.

"I don't think I have to tell you to be even _more_ careful _now_." She bumps his shoulder companionably. "I hope it's worth it."

Daniel swallows, grabbing the last cup of blue jello for her tray and thinks back to this morning. His whole body does an odd melting thing, and he has to look at the floor intently, focus on not smiling so damn wide.

"Yeah." Daniel clears his throat. "Yes it is."

**Author's Note:**

> Written for tigerlilly2063, for the Jack/Daniel Ficathon 2007. The requirements were: #1 - pre-ascension, and #2 - a secret, accidently revealed, with some private life/pr0n on the side.
> 
> I started writing it in 7th season before I realized the pre-ascension bit; thus the episode-centric 2nd season-ness. And the secret is a bit more subtle--since I planned, uh, four other fics (one of which may actually get written! and include Claudia Black!) with cool secrets and promptly ditched all of them to finish this one. One of the restrictions was to let them act like men--and I can only hope I've managed to pull that off, despite the inadvertent fluff.
> 
> Many &lt;3s to fatema, fantasmabob and wispofterra for the virtual hand-holding and flailing-encouragement, and especially Fate for giving it a quick read-through despite being a Sam/Jack shipper who's barely read any Jack/Daniel.


End file.
